Down and dirty

An iron foundry is well known for being a dirty place to work.  It is in addition a very hot place too.  For a century or more the molds that were the recipients of molten iron were made of sand.  But not just sand of course.  To keep its shape and withstand its flooding with nearly white hot metal it needed adhesive chemicals to hold it together.  I never determined just what the chemicals were but when paired with the liquid iron they emitted acrid smoke and flames of yellow, deep green, purple, and yes, even orange and red.  With minimal ventilation, suffice it to say, the air was heavily polluted.

What you’ve heard so far is just the overture of what’s to come.  During the regular operation of the foundry, large castings requiring a ten ton crane to lift them were made on a daily basis.  After the moulds were poured and allowed to cool to a solid state they had to be immediately shaken out to separate the casting from its sand made mould.

Ah! Shakeout.  The low end of foundry workers.  The entry level of dirty work.  Noisy work.  Dangerous work.  How dangerous?  An example:

1- A round ball casting bounced up toward my face which was protected by a full face visor.  Instinctively I turned my face which allowed the flying ball to get under my sweatshirt and roll down my bare back.  It was glowing red when it entered under my collar and still glowing and smelling like burnt flesh when it happily for me rolled away onto the floor.  I recall some of my co-workers smiling at the new dance I created trying to avoid getting burned too badly.

2- A second instance was intentionally caused by nefarious workers.  I became a skilled iron pourer which enabled me to pour well and quite quickly.  It allowed me to take a break as soon as the ladle, held by a 20 ton crane, was empty.  But, if I poured “too fast” it caused some difficulties in the supply chain of new empty moulds.  The moulders and the other pouring ramp workers found an ingenious but dangerous way of slowing the overly fast pourer down.  They would but a piece of wood somewhere inside the mould.  When a ladle of 2400 degree iron was poured into it it would explode and spew liquid iron into the air and cause me to dodge the conflagration.  You could see the smiles from the moulders section.  A classic case of non verbal communication was taking place.  I remembering, I got the message.

3- This one didn’t happen to me but the event pointed out again the danger of foundry work.  Large pieces of scrap iron were bought and made ready to reuse in the cupula.  The large ones had to be broken up.  This was done by using a crane to drop a 1 ton ball on the piece that was placed on a massive anvil.  A worker had to enter into a steel sided bin about 20 feet in diameter to adjust the large piece to be broken.  The crane used a powerful magnet that could easily lift the 1 ton ball.  When activated the magnet could snap 500 pounds a foot or two in the blink of an eye.  In this case the workers hand was caught between the magnet and a large piece.  The crane operator waited for the worker to leave the bin before he would go to pick up the ball to get ready to drop it.  In this incident the worker couldn’t leave the bin because his hand was being held fast between the magnet and the chunk of iron.  After a few minutes, the crane operator realized he still had the magnet turned on and released it.  The worker then escaped the bin and was taken off to the hospital.

The worst job of all was cleaning up the excess sand that fell down deep under the shaker table.  There was a conveyor belt designed to take the shaken sand back to the surface to be reused.  However much spillage took place throughout the shift and had to be shoveled back on to the belt.  The space on either side of the conveyor belt was very narrow that only slim workers could fit in it to do the shoveling.  I was one of those skinny guys at 17 years old.  The boss always asked for a volunteer who was entitled to get off work 15 minutes early under the union work rules. So the young, the dumb, and the least senior workers did it most of the time.  Talk about down and dirty, this was the place.  I recall thinking that even God may have forgotten about this place.

A blackened face, covered with black sand dust was magnified when the respirator was removed upon completion.  But an early shower wasn’t enough to get all the dirt off.  It was somehow magnetized and seemed to stick a little even after a second shower with strong company issued soap.

To further illustrate how dirty this job was, listen to this:  I decided to volunteer my military draft status from a student deferment to 1-A.  Perhaps it was my subliminal way to get out of the dirty job.  I was soon drafted and assigned to Fort Knox Kentucky for basic training.  After several weeks of intensive physical training I was out in the field practicing observation training.  I had occasion to sneeze and black soot emerged from my lungs and nasal cavities.  It convinced me that lasting effects of my time in the foundry were still in my system.  Talk about dirty. Whew!